Peter Skillet and the Gemrock Snatcher: Chapter 1
by lloopdeloopp
Summary: This is a parody version of Harry Potter and the Philosopher's or Sorcerer's Stone, Chapter One The Boy Who Lived . This is labled In Progress because I might be adding chapters. Chapter One is complete


Note: This is a parody version of Harry Potter and the Philosopher's (or Sorcerer's) Stone. I do not own Harry Potter nor do I have any affiliation with it. I just really, really love the books, and so I decided to do this. Thanks for reading, and I might put following chapters up at a future date, but I'm not sure yet.

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**PETER SKILLET AND THE GEMROCK SNATCHER**

**Chapter One: The Boy Who Survived**

Mr. and Mrs. Grease of Number 8 Open Street were really quite normal. They had a very normal life and hated any suspicious people.

Mr. Grease worked at a store that sold broken lawnmowers. He had just been promoted to the manager of the store. He was an enormously obese man with a huge mustache that took up half of his face. His mustache was always quite greasy from all of the French Fries he ate. He also was born without a neck. Mrs. Grease was only skin and bones with about fifteen times the usual amount of neck, which was good because she loved to look over the roof of their house and watch the neighbors. The Greases had a baby son named Piggy, and they thought he was the most excellent child alive.

The Grease family had a lot of money, a big home, and a good plump son, but they also had a secret that was so secret that it made them really scared to think about what would happen if it became world-wide news. They were pretty sure that they would die if any one person that they knew also knew about the Juices. Mrs. Juice was Mrs. Grease's sister, but they hadn't talked on the telephone in 26 years exactly. Mrs. Grease actually told all of her friends and the government that she was an only child, so that there would be no record of Mrs. Juice. This was because Mrs. Grease thought that her sister's family was really ugly and weird. They would never allow the Juice family to come on Open Street, because they had an electric fence guarding their home. Mr. and Mrs. Juice had a son that was Piggy's age, but the Greases never wanted Piggy to meet that wretched boy.

When the Greases woke up on Monday morning the sky was cloudy and normal. They thought that the day would be very ordinary. Mr. Grease got an ugly tie out of his closet and put it on, although he thought it was really cool. Mrs. Grease talked on the phone while Piggy was trying to break the leg of his high chair.

Not one member of that family noticed the over-size pigeon fly by the greasy window.

At noon, Mr. Grease grabbed his man-purse, kissed Mrs. Grease goodbye on the doorstep, and tried to say goodbye to Piggy, but the boy threw some Fruit Loops in his face. "What a fatty," laughed Mr. Grease as he got into his car.

When he was driving in the street, he saw a sloth reading a map. He did a double take, and then the map was gone. As he drove away, the sloth started drinking a glass of water. Mr. Grease figured it must have been the lighting, because sloths didn't read maps _or_ drink water. In fact, why would a sloth be in the middle of the city? He stuck his face out the window to shake the thought off. As he was driving downtown he didn't think of the sloth one bit.

But later, as he sat at a stoplight, he noticed that a lot of people were wearing long trench coats. It was very suspicious, and Mr. Grease _hated_ suspicious people. Also, some of them looked like they might be a hundred years old! One other thing that Mr. Grease hated with a burning passion was old people. But when the traffic light turned green, and he arrived at his store, his mind was on broken lawnmowers.

There were no windows in the store, so Mr. Grease didn't see the mass of gargantuan pigeons flying by. But people on the street were perplexed by them. No one had ever seen a bird that big. Mr. Grease, however, had a very nice day. He yelled at every customer in the store, and still sold a ton of broken lawnmowers. At lunch, he got on his segway to go to the bakery across the street.

When he came out, he almost dropped his fresh box of a dozen doughnuts. This was because he spotted a group of the trench coat people. He almost fainted when he heard what they were saying.

"The poor Juices…"

"Yes, and their poor son, Peter Skillet."

Mr. Grease threw his doughnuts into the air, hopped onto his segway, and rolled away screaming. When he got back to the store, he dashed to the phone, planning to call his wife. But he changed his mind because he realized that they were most likely not talking about his horrid relatives. After all, Juice was such a popular last name where he lived, and he wasn't even sure if the boy was named Peter Skillet. It easily could have been Peter Pot, or Peter Pan. After all, Mrs. Grease always freaked out if there was any talk of her sister. She would normally try to break everything in sight.

When he finally could go home, he got in his car. As he was leaving the parking lot, he hit a small, old, and suspicious man in a long yellow trench coat. Mr. Grease hoped the man was okay, but only because running someone over in a car would probably mean quite a bit of paper work. He still hated every suspicious hair on that old balding head.

"Are you okay?" Mr. Grease asked coldly, and he was surprised to see the man stand up with a huge grin on his face. "Yes, I am, because That-One-Guy-Who-Can't-Be-Named is finally dead. Good day, Sluggle."

The man limped off, and Mr. Grease was filled with fury, because he had just been called a Sluggle. He didn't know what that was, but it sounded bad.

As soon as he got home, the first thing that he saw was the same creepy sloth laying in the large tree that was growing in the front yard. He was sure it was the same one, because it had the same ugly face.

"Get out of my tree!" Mr. Grease screeched.

The sloth opened its eyes and turned to face him, but did not leave. It only looked at him like it wanted to laugh at him. Mr. Grease did not think that sloths behaved this way, but he still didn't want Mrs. Grease to find anything out about his day.

Mrs. Grease had the day that was promised that morning. She did not see or hear anything unusual. She spied on the neighbors with her strangely long neck, took care of Piggy, and tidied the house. When Piggy finally fell asleep on the floor, Mr. Grease turned on the television for a little news:

"Hello, and welcome to the news channel. First up today, there have been millions of pigeons around the country. That seems normal, but the twist is that these birds are huge! They are bigger than most birds alive. It is so strange and mysterious that it is driving bird experts crazy, trying to find out how they got so big. And here's Wendy Skeyes with the weather."

Mr. Grease turned the TV off. He was petrified. All of this nonsense going on all over the place, and those people in coats who were talking about the Juices made him decide that he would have to tell Mrs. Grease.

When she sat down on the couch, he said, "Darling, have you heard from your sister in the past 26 years?"

Mrs. Grease looked like she was on the verge of having a meltdown, but she managed to contain her fury.

"Of course I haven't, why must you know?" she snapped.

"There has been a lot of suspicious stuff going on, and you know horribly suspicious she was," Mr. Grease mumbled timidly.

Mrs. Grease stared at him angrily, and he did not want to say anything about the talk of the Juices. Instead he said, "Don't they have a son Piggy's age?"

"Yes, Peter Skillet. It's a horrible name in my opinion. Piggy is so much nicer."

"Yes, yes," Mr. Grease replied, but he now knew that the people were indeed talking about the juices.

When they went to bed, Mr. Grease looked outside the window and saw the sloth. It was starting to scare him, so he tried not to think about it as he went to bed. Mr. Grease sank into a deep sleep, but the sloth on the tree looked straight down Open Street, barely blinking.

Not long after everyone on the street was asleep, a man turned onto the corner and walked towards the sloth. The Greases would not have liked this man one bit. He was very old. He had a white beard and hair, both of which brushed the floor as he walked. In fact, it was amazing that he did not trip on his beard. He was wearing a long green trench coat, and manly, five inch heels. The irises of his eyes were blue, but they were so light that they looked white from a distance. They were sparkling with liquid, and it looked like he was about to cry. He had tiny glasses too. This guy was called Alan Smartlewindow.

Alan Smartlewindow had no idea that if anyone saw him in this neighborhood, they would probably attack him because he was so strange. He suddenly snapped his head up and stared at the sloth as he walked toward it. He gave an evil laugh and said, "I can't believe you are here."

He then put his hand inside his pocket, and took out a cigarette lighter. But, when he clicked it, fire did not come out. Instead, the light on the nearest lamppost flew into it. He kept clicking it, until the area was pitch-black. Smartlewindow put the Light-Taker in his pocket as his eyes adjusted. He then walked to the sloth, and he talked to it as if it were a person.

"I am so glad to see you after that very long, five hour separation, Professor McMuffin."

And before his very eyes, the sloth turned into a very mean and strict lady who was just as ugly as the sloth. She was wearing a purple trench coat, and her black hair was in a bun, but it was so tight that her skin was stretched back over her face.

"How could you have possibly, in one hundred years, have guessed that I was the sloth?" she inquired.

"I have never seen such an ugly sloth. Plus, sloths don't typically hang out in suburban neighborhoods."

"Well, I look especially ugly since I had to watch these Sluggles all day," said Professor McMuffin.

"All day?!" exclaimed Smartlewindow, aghast. "I went to the most happenin' parties today!"

"Oh blah, blah, blah; you know, the Sluggles have been noticing."

"You can't possibly be mad!" said Smartlewindow. "Who cares if the Sluggles find out about us all, we have had no parties for forty seven years, you know."

"WHO CARES?" Professor McMuffin yelled, "I care!" It would be horrible if Sluggles find out about us right after we might finally have some peace. But is he really even gone?"

"He is more or less gone…" said Smartlewindow mysteriously. "Do you want a Tootsie Roll?"

"What's that?"

"A Sluggle treat! They are so yummy!" Alan Smartlewindow took out about fifteen Tootsie Rolls, took the wrappers off, and crammed them all into his mouth.

"That is repulsing," said Professor McMuffin. "I would rather eat a sloth brother. But even if That-One-Guy-Who-Can't-Be-Named is really dead-"

"Oh Professor McMuffin, are you really that stupid," said Smartlewindow, "because I think you are cool enough to call him by his real name: Gophenogh. All of this That-One-Guy-Who-Can't-Be-Named junk, I never know who people are talking about. I don't know why people are so scared to say it. It's just a name…"

"I'm just so scared! I mean, it's just so scary! And That-One-Guy-Who-Can't-Be-Named was afraid of you, so it doesn't matter if you say it."

"Professor McMuffin," said Smartlewindow angrily. "If you do not say the name right this instant I will hate you forever."

"Okay, I'll say it," Professor McMuffin wailed. "Just don't hate me! Okay, Gophenogh."

"Thank you. I do not hate you now."

"Yes! I am so grateful!" said Professor McMuffin. "So anyways, have you heard what people are saying?"

Smartlewindow said nothing, but shoved quite a few more Tootsie Rolls in his mouth.

"They are saying," Professor McMuffin continued, "that Gophenoghcame to the Juice's house last night and killed Clover and Cashmere Juice. It's not true, right?"

"Actually it is."

Professor McMuffin let out a cry of despair. "But do you know what stopped him?"

"It was their son, Peter Skillet Juice. Gophenogh couldn't kill him."

"But how did he do it?" asked Professor McMuffin. "He is only a baby, and Gophenogh has killed millions of people."

"I have no idea, so you will just have to get over it."

Smarltewindow looked at the moon and could apparently tell what time it was, because he said, "It is so late! I need to get my beauty sleep. Hagalicious is _so_ late. He is bringing Peter Skillet, by the way, so he can live with his Aunt and Uncle."

"These people, you can't! They are horrid! And how could you trust Hagalicious to bring Peter Skillet anyway? You know that he suffers from short term memory loss. He will forget."

"No, he will not!" exclaimed Smartlewindow. "I would trust Hagalicious with anything; maybe even cooking my breakfast."

"Cooking your breakfast!" repeated Professor McMuffin. "How could you trust anyone with that important job?"

"I don't know. But I can't wait to leave, I am so tired."

"So why exactly are you forcing him to live here?"

"I feel like it. Plus, he will be famous, and his head might explode under the pressure before he is older."

"Oh!" said Professor McMuffin. "That is a really good idea!"

"I know," said Smartlewindow, but Professor McMuffin might not have heard him because a tree fell over in the yard next to them. When they investigated further, they realized that Hagalicious had knocked down the tree on a huge scooter.

And the man was huge! He was taller than any other man in the neighborhood and his hair was cut like a lion's mane. He was holding a baby that was smaller than his giant hand.

"Hagalicious," said Smarltewindow, "it took you long enough to get here. We've been waiting forever."

"Sorry," said Hagalicious. "I've got the baby. He's asleep."

"Good, good," said Smartlewindow as he and Professor McMuffin looked at the baby. He had a lot of black hair, and would have been very cute if it wasn't for the huge red gash that took up almost his entire forehead.

"Will he have that gash forever?" asked Professor McMuffin.

"Yes," replied Smartlewindow. "Well Hagalicious, hand him over."

Smartlewindow took Peter Skillet and Hagalicious started to cry.

"What is the matter Hagalicious? Don't be such a baby," said Professor McMuffin.

Hagalicious gave a sob and said, "It's just that I'm gonna miss him so much. I mean, in the three hours we've spent together, it's like he's my own son."

"Get over it, you baby," barked Smartlewindow. He then dropped Peter Skillet on the doorstep of number 8, put the light back in the street lamps, and the three of them walked away (although Hagalicious rode his scooter).

When they were gone, Peter Skillet Juice rolled around the front lawn in his sleep, not knowing that he was about to be found by his aunt and uncle. The gash in his forehead started to bleed a little bit as people all over the world were saying, "I sure do like that Peter Skillet Juice, the boy who survived."


End file.
